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it was the top of the seventh inning. two outs. score was four to three. they were up one. there was a runner on first and second.
tommy was never good under pressure. he would crumble at the worst possible moments. he would crack and break and possibly even cry. he can’t handle the weight of everything being put on his shoulders. the fact he would be the teams only hope in a make or break situation. he hated that he was a good pitcher. he hated that he was moved up from junior varsity. he was still young enough to be on modified, but apparently the varsity coach loved him. apparently he thought tommy was good enough to be on a team with guys almost five years older than him. ranboo and tubbo being on the team was a plus. the varsity team was low on players, so they pulled up tommy, tubbo, and ranboo. although, tubbo and ranboo mostly just rode the bench.
tommy was really hoping dream would just land these pitches right in schlatt’s glove for this last inning. just let them hit it, the field has his back. the infield was giving him words of encouragement.
“here we go, dream.”
“just one more out.”
“let’s go, dream.”
“just let him hit it, we’ve got your back.”
dream was being fancy. curveballs, screwballs, change ups. all of them flew just by the batters box. the umpire calling them balls. walk after walk after walk . dream was frustrated. you could just tell. from his body language when he would receive the ball back from schlatt to when he would drop his arms in a huff when the umpire called his pitch a ball. he must’ve thrown plenty more than one hundred pitches just this game. tommy could practically feel the ache in his own shoulder. a timeout was called by schlatt. he made his way from behind the batters box to the pitchers mound. dream dropped his shoulders, twisting the ball around in his fingers. the infield ran in, waiting to hear the words of encouragement schlatt would hopefully say. foolish made his way over to karl in center field gesturing for tommy to make his way over as well. the trudge to center seemed endless. rubber pebbles from the turf kicking up with every step he took.
“phil’s probably gonna take him out soon.” karl said as tommy was in earshot. “dream told me during lunch that his arm was pretty sore from the other day.”
“you’re in rookie!” foolish patted tommy on the shoulder.
tommy froze. no fucking way he could go in right now. phil wouldn’t even give him a second thought. he’s just a freshman with an arm so he put him in the outfield. he’s at the same skill level as ranboo and tubbo, tommy was just chosen by pure luck.
schlatt made his way back towards his designated spot after the umpire told them to hurry it up. foolish patted tommy’s shoulder before sprinting back to right. karl flicked under tommy’s hat, forcing him to react quickly so it didn’t fall off. tommy made his way back to left, practically shaking in his cleats. phil wouldn’t put him in, of course not. dream would get them out of the inning and they wouldn’t even need to use their last at bat. dream could do it. dream would do it.
a good performance is ninety-nine percent confidence.
phil’s words from every pregame pep talk rang through tommy’s head.
confidence is key.
tommy used to think the words always went in one ear and out the other. that he would never pick up on whatever this old man was spewing. what does he know? tommy knows how to play baseball, he doesn’t need to hear shit about confidence. he has oodles of confidence. sure, sometimes he questioned his ability. he questioned why they wanted him to move up to varsity. why he was the only one of his freshman friends to actually get playing time. he had confidence, but he wasn’t the one that needed it right now.
he was in ready position. in a slight squat with his elbows resting on his thighs. his glove ready, waiting patiently for the perfect pop fly to land.
dream was in his wind up. looking to his left side, hoping to pick the runner at first off. his lead was too big, it wouldn’t be too hard. dream’s eyes shifted back to schlatt’s open glove. the batter waved his bat slowly while it rested just above his right shoulder. dream brought the ball into his glove, stepping and letting it fly.
schlatt had to stand to grab it. it went over the batters head. the umpire didn’t even need to say anything, it was a ball at first sight. the ball was back in dreams glove in a blink. he was already winding up for the next pitch. he was rushing. trying his hardest to get the inning done, but there was a runner on second who seemed ready to steal. it’s one of the hardest things to do in baseball, pick a runner off second base as the pitcher. hopefully, dream wouldn’t try to pull any of that shit.
dream’s hands were shaking. sweat coated his palms. he had to wipe his right hand on his pants to ensure the ball wouldn’t slip. he had a routine. wipe his hand, touch the brim of his hat, scratch his cheek, then make his way into his wind up. he did this every single time. repetition and muscle memory were what athletes always had engraved in their brains. batting practices consisted of rep after rep of hitting fastballs in the cage. fielding practices consisted of scooping and throwing. scooping and throwing. scooping and throwing. rep after rep after rep. whenever tommy would go to the optional pitching and catching practices, it was always him and dream throwing different pitches into schlatt or quackity’s gloves. everything tommy did well was taught from repetition. he didn’t need to think when he hit the ball, he just did.
tommy’s hands were sweating as well. the words he received from karl and foolish just moments before rang through his head.
‘phil’s probably gonna take him out soon.’
‘you’re in rookie!’
tommy would rather lose his arm than pitch this game. especially if dream walks this batter. tommy can just picture it; bases loaded, only one out left, he would fuck it up, the other team wins, dream is mad at him for taking his spot, and the entire team is mad at him for losing the game for them. picking on the freshman seems like something the team would do. although, that thought hasn’t been made a reality. the team is actually pretty nice. they don’t even make fun of ranboo and tubbo, which isn’t that easy to do. tommy can’t go two minutes without saying something about them, whether good or bad. it’s all just jokes, just banter. god, ranboo and tubbo would be disappointed if tommy lost this game.
best case scenario: dream strikes this batter out. the count is currently three balls, one strike. that scenario isn’t looking too good.
second best case scenario: the batter hits a pop fly right to one of the outfielders, catching it. or maybe even a grounder to sapnap at third. a quick throw to wilbur at first would get the game over in an instant.
worst case scenario: dream walks this batter and phil puts tommy in to pitch.
tommy can pitch. he knows he can pitch, but at this moment it’s the last thing he wants to do. he doesn’t want to let the team down. he doesn’t want to let his coaches, phil and techno, down. if he goes in and the batter hits a homerun off him, he wouldn’t hear the end of it. sure, they still have their last at bat and a walk off would be nice, but tommy wanted this game over with and he noticed everyone else did too. throws were becoming sloppy, no one is down and ready, and tommy swore he saw karl sitting down in center field.
dream was in his windup. back in his routine. he let the pitch fly. it was a change up, tommy knew the second it left dream’s grip. the batter doesn’t swing. smart batter. every smart batter knows, if there are three balls and only one strike, it’s a take. meaning, do not swing unless it’s literally right in the hole and if so you better get your bat on the ball. it was close. god, it was close. it looked like a strike from left field. it might’ve been inside, but the batter didn’t back up. the entire infield was tense. it looked good. maybe not good enough. everyone was looking at the umpire, waiting for his opinion.
he didn’t say a word, only pointed to first base. the other teams dugout erupted in cheers. the batter flipped his bat and jogged his way to first base.
the bases were loaded and dream was finished. he was slumped in his stance. shoulders hunched over. he had already taken his glove off and shoved it under his arm. phil called a timeout and ran onto the field.
tommy froze. this was it. he was going to have to pitch and risk fucking up the game. fucking up the teams win streak. fucking up the teams undefeated mentality. fucking up their chances for the playoffs. just, single-handedly fucking up everything this team worked so hard for.
phil called tommy’s name, waving him over to the pitchers mound. there was a lump prevalent in his throat and it was growing by the second. god, he couldn’t do this.
it seemed endless, the light jog to the mound. the infielders were surrounding the mound, patting dream on the back. sapnap smacked his ass. they were telling him he did a good job, reassuring that no one was mad at him. tommy stepped up to the mound. god, he really couldn’t do this. dream put the ball in tommy’s glove as he put a hand on his shoulder.
“you got this, tommy.” was all he said before making his way to the dugout.
techno patted dream’s back as he entered, making his way over to tubbo and ranboo. tommy watched as tubbo’s eyes lit up. he watched as he grabbed his glove and his hat, sprinting to where tommy stood second ago. the infielders talked amongst themselves while tommy started warmup pitches. the umpire giving him five.
how the fuck am i supposed to warmup in just five?
he hasn’t practiced all day. he’s been sitting in class, not even thinking about the game that was happening later. his leg cramped while he was bouncing it during english and now they expect him to finish this game? he ate the school’s greasy ass pizza for lunch and now they expect him to strike this batter out?
tommy wanted to throw up.
he threw his first warmup pitch. it hooked and went straight into the dirt.
god fucking dammit, tommy.
he took a breath. getting ready for the next. he just had to think about release point. release point and balance. he didn’t plan on doing any fancy pitches. he only knew two. his fastball and change up. it wasn’t a lot, but it worked wonders. he was just as fast as dream, maybe even faster, but dream knew all the throws. he would confuse the batter, that was his specialty. tommy just knew how to throw it fast.
his last pitch was the worst one. way above schlatt’s head. he still caught it, having to explode off the ground and shoot his arm in the air. tommy wasn’t confident at all. phil’s words couldn’t help now. the infield did whatever they could to pump him up. patting his back or his head, telling him that he had this, that he only needed to strike out one batter.
the batter was about two steps outside the batters box, taking two practice swing before stepping in. this was the teams fourth batter in the order. everyone knows the fourth batter is the strongest. the batter most likely to have a good hit while the bases are loaded. that’s exactly what tommy would imagine him doing.
tommy took a breath before transitioning into his windup. he didn’t have a routine before he pitched like dream did. just his plain old windup that didn’t intimidate batters one bit. he took his step and let the ball fly. it was a little high, yet the batter swung. tommy flinched as if the ball was coming right back at him. as he opened his eyes, the batter was still at the plate with one foot out of the box.
he hadn’t hit it. tommy just landed a strike on this batter. the ball was whizzing through the air back to him. tommy caught it and started into his windup again. schlatt gave the signal for another fastball, making tommy nod.
he let the pitch fly, this time the batter didn’t swing. tommy stood, waiting for the umpires opinion. tommy thought it looked good and apparently so did george at shortstop. tommy heard him clapped his glove and whoop. the umpire stuck his hand out, making a noise that definitely didn’t sound like ‘strike,’ but everyone knew what it meant nonetheless. tommy’s chest sparked with something that felt like success. another strike in the book. he was giddy. his hands shaking with so much adrenaline he wouldn’t be surprised if the ball flew out of his hand, unintentionally.
tommy felt something people would usually call excitement. yet, it was all mixed with adrenaline. the blood rushing to his ears and the shake of his hands showed it.
tommy checked the runners on first and third, seeing if their leads were big enough to possibly pick them off. they weren’t that dumb, sadly. wilbur and sapnap weren’t even on their bags so it wouldn’t work anyway. tommy looked to schlatt and his eyes blew wide. schlatt held two fingers, signaling he wanted him to throw a change up. god, tommy could not do that. one, he wasn’t confident enough and two, he’s only thrown it a couple of times in practice. it wasn’t really as good as what dream can throw. tommy doesn’t decrease nearly enough speed as dream can. tommy’s were wild. they weren’t very good. they were sloppy. they were everything that dream’s weren’t. dream’s were everything tommy’s weren’t. dream was everything tommy wasn’t.
so tommy shook schlatt off. usually, the catcher would oblige and give the pitcher another pitch, but schlatt was adamant. he nodded dramatically, still holding two fingers between his legs. tommy shook his head again. schlatt nodded his head fiercely, practically giving himself whiplash.
‘take a risk.’ schlatt mouthed to tommy, it useless. his mouth was blocked by his face mask.
tommy knew what he meant nonetheless. he hated taking risks, but he shifted his grip on the ball anyways. moving his fingers to throw the ball with such a slow speed the batter will be dumbfounded. tommy just had to remember,
same windup, your grip will do all the work for you.
the words dream told him when tommy went to his first pitching practice. dream taught him his change up. tommy uses the same grip dream uses.
tommy let it go. it felt off, but that’s how it’s supposed to feel. it’s not a normal pitch and tommy could sense that. it didn’t look wild.
the batter swung. he swung way too early. missing the ball completely. tommy knew it was successful before his eyes showed him. the entire infield erupted in cheers. tommy turned to see quackity bouncing up and down as they all ran into tommy. schlatt threw his arms in the air while running over, his equipment clanking with every step he took. the batter slammed his bat straight into the turf, sending the small rubber pellets flying. tommy could practically feel the rage oozing off of him. tommy couldn’t relate. his eyes sparkled and his chest rose and fell with every clap on the back he got. as well as every clap from the crowd. this must be what a standing ovation feels like.
tommy felt as if he was floating while walking back to the dugout. every step felt lighter and lighter. tubbo ran up to tommy, throwing himself onto his back and smacking his shoulders.
“hey, hey! hands off! we don’t wanna hurt our new starting pitcher.” dream announced with a grin plastered across his face.
“what?” were the only words that came out of his mouth.
“okay. dream, that’s enough.” technoblade came up behind dream, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“tommy, you’re not going to be starting. let’s just say, you’re going to be pitching a lot more now.” phil chuckled.
tommy could only smile. that stupid teethy grin he always smiled. it was iconic, memorable. whenever someone saw that smile, they knew the sun was shining.
pitching more than he did before was enough, he was proud of himself nonetheless.